


Kiss With a Fist

by osaki_nana_707



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaki_nana_707/pseuds/osaki_nana_707
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets Eames. Arthur mistakes his sexual frustration as anger and hatred because he's just that emotionally stunted. Violence ensues, then sex. Then more violence <strike>and then probably more sex</strike>.</p><p>For 's Ribaldry and Rage week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss With a Fist

Kiss With a Fist

When Arthur meets him the first time, he has an immediate distaste for him. His mismatched style annoys him a little and the knowing little smirk annoys him a _lot_. He thinks that he's too confident, too _sure_ , and Arthur hates that about other people because most of the time they don't know what they're talking about/doing.

He also hates how touchy-feely he immediately is. During Cobb's debriefing, he'd put his hand on the back of Arthur's chair. **His** _ **hand**_ **on the back of his** _ **chair**_. His fingertips were touching his shoulder blade and everything!

No, he was _not_ overreacting!

His personal space was just extremely important to him. It was even more important to him when somebody like Eames was invading it.

 _Eames_ , the name made him sneer... _Eames_ with his shirt and his hand on the back of his chair (seriously, on the back of his chair!) and his stupid little grin and that little glint in his eye like he knew just how to put Arthur on edge…

Cobb had said he was just imagining it. Arthur _knows_ that's not true.

He _knows_ it because of the way he says, "All right there, Arthur?" when Arthur accidently leans his chair too far back and ends up scrambling to keep from tipping.

Seriously.

Who didn't see that?

They barely knew each other. Eames had no right, _no right_ , to call him by his first name…

…though, there was no way he could know his _last_ name, but it was the principle of the thing. Arthur didn't call him by _his_ first name. He didn't know his first name either, but even if he did he still wouldn't call him by it because it was just _rude_ and he was more respectful than that.

…and that was the thing, really. Arthur had been raised his entire life to be respectful and polite. Sure, he tended to be a little forward when he didn't like the way certain conversations went during the circles Cobb made in search of one of his parasitic _ideas_ or whatnot. Yes, he would respond a little bitterly to something too risky, but really he was trying to _protect_ everyone. It was _honorable_.

Eames though… Eames liked to snark for the sake of snarking. He'd grin crooked teeth at Arthur and call him names and tease him every time he said something. _Every time_.

Well, okay, not _every_ time… but enough.

There are things people don't really seem to realize about anger. Arthur knows that big horrible annoyances tend to go by unchecked. It's the little things, the teeny tiny little agitating quirks that really set people off, building and building and _building_ over time until it explodes. The worst part is is that Eames seems to be made out of nothing but teeny tiny little agitating quirks, and Arthur doesn't even know why they frustrate him so much. He doesn't.

He really, truthfully doesn't… and that bothers him even more.

It only takes about two weeks working together before Arthur's reached his boiling point.

It's after hours, and Eames had joked about some tiny, probably insignificant information that Arthur had mentioned, and it had forced Arthur into staying late to double check his numbers and confirm everything.

…and then Eames comes back in.

It's just him and Eames in the warehouse. After hours. Alone.

"Still at it, eh?" Eames asks, and Arthur physically tenses because Eames has gone and put his hand on the back of his chair again.

Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm, but the heat is already rising in his cheeks, and his hands are shaking with anger. "Please move your hand from my chair please," he says, each word bitingly quiet.

He feels Eames shift on his feet. "Why? Does it bother you?" he asks and, rather than making any kind of attempt to just respect Arthur's wishes, he presses his knuckles against Arthur's spine.

Arthur grinds his teeth, and the heat is maddening. "Yes. It does."

…and Eames chuckles low in his throat and suddenly sends the chair tipping backwards until Arthur is sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling in shock and such white hot anger he can't even form words.

"Oops," Eames said, grinning at him with laughter in his eyes.

…and that's all it takes.

Arthur hurls himself to his feet and goes swinging. He's slighter than Eames in build, but he's a damn good fighter for sure. He gets him right in the nose, hearing a sickeningly delightful cracking noise and ravishing in a spray of blood.

Eames, who had apparently not expected the fist, stumbles backwards and Arthur lays into him with punches, scratching at him with his nails, tearing at that mismatched shirt. "Arth—" Eames tries to say and Arthur punches him in the mouth to shut him up.

The punch sends Eames crashing to the floor, and Arthur's right there with him, straddling him, pulling back his fist for a final, crushing blow.

…and then he stops because Eames is… smiling.

He's _smiling_ with blood pouring out of his nose and his busted lip. He's smiling with a bruise swelling underneath his left eye and a scratch over his right eyebrow.

…and Arthur can't hit him because he doesn't understand. He's frozen with confusion, panting like he'd just run a marathon… and he doesn't _understand_.

"What are you smiling about?" he asks, clenching and unclenching his hand. His knuckles are bruised, and one of them has been split, probably from connecting with one of Eames's teeth.

"If you liked me so much, you could have just said so," Eames replies.

…and Arthur still doesn't understand until Eames lifts one of the legs between Arthur's and rubs his thigh against Arthur's groin where he's sporting a rather impressive erection. In fact, he's so hard that the moment he realizes it, he's dizzy with pain and need.

He catches himself though and jumps off of Eames, backing away as far as he can and making great effort not to touch himself. "D—don't get the wrong idea," he stammers as he watches Eames get to his feet and spit blood on the floor. One of his back teeth is there in the mess. Eames's collarbone is bruised and there were heinous scratches that literally ripped through the fabric of his shirt as if he had been mauled by an animal rather than by Arthur. There's a smattering of blood along his collar, cherry red.

"What idea am I supposed to get?" Eames asks simply.

"It's just… adrenaline—heat of the moment… thing…"

Arthur doesn't even know what that means.

Eames wipes his mouth with his wrist, and it smears blood in the corner of his lips.

Arthur's cock twitches, and he has to fight not to groan.

"Let me take a guess," Eames says, and suddenly Arthur's against the wall and _fuck_ , Eames was right up against him, destroying even an inkling of personal space. He grabs Arthur by the nipple through the shirt and twists it, and Arthur opens his mouth in a soundless shout of pain. "You're attracted to me," Eames says. "You're attracted to me, and you didn't know what to do with your feelings because you're a sexually frustrated little brat and decided to go with an emotion you're more familiar with."

"Why would I be attracted to—" Arthur tries to argue, but he's having trouble thinking. His nipple still smarts.

"You want to tear me apart, don't you?" Eames whispers against Arthur's ear, and he can't hold back the shiver it causes. "You get turned on by blood and bruises—it gives you a real _rush_ to see someone battered and at your mercy, doesn't it?"

Arthur's eyes roll back in his head of their own accord, and an obscene noise escapes his lips.

How had he not known this about himself before? He'd been harming people for years, and yeah, there was an extreme rush that came with the challenge of taking someone down that was bigger than him and stronger than him, but he'd never really thought about how _hot_ that rush made him. He'd gone home and beat off after killing a man once and never even realized that that was the reason. He had been so dizzy with arousal he didn't even need to fantasize.

"So… you're a virgin maybe?" Eames queried, licking at the blood smear on his lips, and Arthur goes to punch him again. Eames pins Arthur's hands above his head with just _one_ of his own, and Arthur never realized just how _built_ the other man is.

Actually, he had. That was what drew his eye and annoyed/aroused him in the first place. He just hadn't realized that he wasn't frustrated by Eames's presence for the reasons he thought.

"—not a virgin—" Arthur tries to say, but it barely comes out.

"Regardless, you like to establish a little dominance, don't you?" Eames asks, pressing himself against Arthur. Arthur rolls his hips, unable to help himself anymore. "You should know something about me though, Arthur… I've played this game with types like you before… and I don't intend to just _let_ you win. See… I like to play rough too."

Eames punches Arthur in the gut, sending him crumpling over just in time for Eames to backhand him. Arthur stumbles and falls against a desk, knocking over all of Cobb's paperwork, and he turns back to fight and is met with a punch in the mouth. He tastes the familiar copper flavor of blood immediately.

When Eames hauls back for another hit, Arthur's cleared his head just enough to react in time. He grabs Eames's arms and twists it around Eames's back and slams his head against the desk.

Eames chuckles, clearly enjoying himself, takes hold of a lamp, swings, and shatters it against the side of Arthur's head. The sound of it breaking is more satisfying for Arthur than it should be, blood spiderwebbing across his temple, as he turns to throw another punch.

Eames catches his fist and pulls him sharply until they're pressed up against each other, and then his mouth is on Arthur's in a bruising kiss. Arthur claws at Eames's hair as he grinds up against him for some sort of friction, and then Eames lifts Arthur and throws him over onto Cobb's desk.

Eames grins at him, and his teeth are stained pink with blood. "There are better ways to get out your sexual frustration, Arthur," he says, and Arthur grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him on top of him, biting at his neck until he draws blood.

Arthur would usually care that Eames is ripping his waistcoat off of him, sending buttons flying, but he's about at the point that he can't take it anymore. All the same, he can't just _let_ Eames win either, so he wraps his legs around Eames's waist and, with as much force as he can muster, he turns Eames over so that he's on the desk and Arthur's straddling him.

Eames apparently hadn't expected it; otherwise Arthur knows he never would have achieved such a feat.

Arthur dug in his back pocket, deciding that in lieu of Eames's button-popping, he'd do one better, flipping up the blade on his Swiss Army knife. Eames's eyes widened just slightly, as if silently wondering if Arthur intended to plunge it into his chest.

Instead, Arthur just slices all of the buttons off of Eames's shirt and stabs the knife into the table by his head as a threat.

"I suppose this is game over?" Eames asks.

"Not even," Arthur replies, standing on his knees and unzipping his trousers.

"Oh, I see," Eames says, smirking as if he had planned this all along. Maybe he had. Arthur didn't care.

Eames grabs Arthur by the hips, fingernails digging into the skin and making red half-moon shapes before dragging them across to make long scratches.

Arthur shudders and presses his cock up against Eames's lips, and Eames laps at the pre-come beading at the head, causing Arthur to growl. Then, Eames swallows him down, and Arthur's immediately trembling all over.

Eames scratches at Arthur's ass, drags his teeth down Arthur's cock as he pulls back and then dives in again, and Arthur is yelping above him shamelessly as he fucks Eames's mouth, trying to choke him on it apparently.

Then, Eames shoves a finger into Arthur without warning or lubricant, and Arthur screams as the pain overrides his pleasure. Eames grins around Arthur, and Arthur as a challenge shoves his prick further down Eames's throat, causing him to gag.

Eames sucks on it as if the fact that he can't breathe has no effect on him whatsoever, and it's too much for Arthur. His orgasm doesn't so much build up as much as it just suddenly _explodes_ out of him, rocketing through his entire frame until he can't see, breathe, or think. Everything goes white and staticky, and it rushes over him in waves for what feels like _hours_ … glorious, _glorious_ _**hours**_.

When his vision returns and feeling returns to his extremities, it's only to realize that he's been flipped onto his back. Eames has spit his come onto his chest, rolled his fingers around in it, and shoved two of them into his entrance, crooking them and brushing his prostate far too soon.

Arthur cries, body unsure whether it wants to push towards or away from the touch, but Eames doesn't give him the time to decide, dragging his teeth down his chest and licking up the mess of come and saliva and blood. It distracts him just long enough for Eames to unexpectedly slide his cock inside of Arthur, right to the hilt.

Arthur punches him in the face again, and Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur's arm, sucking at the blood like a fucking vampire.

He pulls back and then _slams_ into him again, and Arthur's banging his fist against the desk, surely bruising all the way up his arm, but the too-much-too-sudden-too-soon sensations are overwhelming and he doesn't care. He tightens around Eames, and Eames chokes back on a whimper, surely seeing stars.

Eames pins Arthur's hands down with his owns and starts slamming into him over and over, heated and quick and with no tenderness whatsoever. He starts gruffly shouting curses and Arthur's name, and Arthur is trying to free his hands, toes curling inside his shoes, and then Eames is spilling into him in hot, wet spurts.

He grabs Arthur's head and slams it against the desk as a way to prove his victory and pulls out.

Arthur falls off the desk, feeling boneless.

"I win," Eames says, leaning down to pull up his trousers.

Arthur hooks a foot around Eames's ankle and knocks him on his ass.

He stands, pulling up his own pants, licking blood off of his upper lip and says, "No, I win."

Eames just smiles from his spot on the floor, dick still hanging out, a thin red line all the way down his chest and abdomen from the blade, and says, "So you did. I concede."

Arthur presses a hand to the wound on his skull and rubs the blood around on his fingers.

Eames lifts his hand, staring at the way his pinky juts out at an odd angle and says, "You broke my finger when you banged your fist against my hand."

"When did I do that?" Arthur asks, and he's sure he should feel pain and soreness rather than a ridiculous amount of satisfaction.

"When you were—" Eames blinks, pausing, and says, "Help me up, would you?"

Arthur does, smirking at him, and Eames brushes some of the loose hairs that had fallen out of Arthur's eyes. " _Oh_ , I see," Arthur says.

"You should probably get that wound looked at."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"You too."

"Come on. I've got a first aid kit back in my room."

"You have a bed there too, right?"

* * *

"What… the fuck… happened here?" Cobb asks, raising his hands to gesture at the scattered papers, the splatters of blood across the concrete, the broken lamp, the knife in the desk, and the scattered buttons.

It's at that moment he looks over to Arthur who's looking particularly bruised and bandaged.

"Arthur," Cobb says, gesturing again, waiting for an explanation.

"Eames and I had a bit of a scuffle, but don't worry. He's not dead." Arthur goes back to typing on his laptop like he'd been talking about something mundane.

"Well, where is he?" Cobb asks hesitantly, glancing over at Eames's empty desk.

"Not here, but I'm sure he'll be back tomorrow," Arthur replies.

Cobb opens his mouth, pointing at Arthur, ready to make a statement, and then he shakes his head and walks away, shouting, "You know what? I don't even want to know."

Arthur waits until Cobb's gone to dig out his cell phone and lifts it to his ear, never dialing because he doesn't have to.

"How are you holding up, Mr. Eames?" he asks, smiling devilishly.

"I'd be holding up a lot better if you'd come back to the room and bloody untie me from these bed posts."

"I could have set the bed on fire, you know."

"I appreciate that you didn't. I get it. I take back all the things I said about you. Now get back here please and untie me because I can't feel my hands."

"I assume this means you're ready for round two then," Arthur says lightly and hangs up before Eames can say anything else.

_(A kick in the teeth is good for some; A kiss with a fist is better than none.)_


End file.
